


Marked and Measured

by Samirant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Inspired by Charlie's Angels, Modern with some futuristic touches, Pre-Relationship, What the Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 22:05:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samirant/pseuds/Samirant
Summary: As far as kidnappings go, Jaime thinks this one might turn out to be his favorite.





	Marked and Measured

Jaime had lost track of how much time had gone by, the lump on the side of his head aching bitterly whenever he tried to estimate distances that a pair of strong arms dragged him along, or the leagues crossed as he sat in the back of a van. The bag around his face was a proper one, had to be made of top grade materials as he couldn’t even tell shapes from shadows. He’d always give credit to kidnapping done right. 

“I’d congratulate you on a job well done, if I weren’t on this end of it,” he told his captors cheerfully. He’d kept up a long string of words for a while now, attempting to elicit one reaction or another from the, at his count, two women that managed to get a jump on him. So far, no dice. “I’ve seen some truly terrible bags in my time, though it’s been a while. Amazing how some people never bothered with the upkeep, I’m talking threadbare patches, holes either from moths or maybe the last wearer attempting to chew through it. I stared at one guy for a solid half hour before he realized it. He’s dead now.”

There. A grunt of disgust. Finally.

“Are we almost there?” He tried to keep a whine from his voice, but it was difficult when there was still blood drying on the right side of his face and a pothole jostled the van and caused him to pitch forward. The pair of strong hands righted him and then clipped him in with a seatbelt and he had to wonder at it. It was a woman, yes? Granted he’d only got a brief, fuzzy glance before the hilt of her weapon knocked him for a loop, but he remembered feminine, if oddly indistinct, features. Aside from a pair of lovely blue eyes, but still; she was damned strong. 

“Is this the way you treat all of those who try to reach out to you? Would you have preferred a text? Mayhaps a raven? I imagine I could have found one of those easily enough, but seven knows I wouldn’t know how to train it in time to stop my sweet sister from what she’s planning.” Jaime hummed as if considering it. “A less clever man would start to be concerned that you are with my sister, come to wreak havoc on my attempts to mind the straight and narrow. Though that would mean Tyrion was the one who led me astray, giving me a false number to call. Surely he wouldn’t do that, he’s considered Cersei a mortal enemy from the cradle, so you must be the angels he promised would deliver me-”

“Do you ever shut up?” 

Jaime grinned from under the bag, not even minding how it pulled at the wound on his scalp.

“Bee!”

The second voice, chastising but lighter and sweeter than the first and unfortunately familiar. The woman at the bar. Not the raven haired trollop who’d tried to measure his inseam from the moment he sat, but the bartender. Sly smile, glasses that couldn’t conceal sharp cheekbones, amusement in her eyes as he tried, somewhat inelegantly, to distance himself from his unwanted friend on the other side of the counter. 

Ah, so she was the one who spiked his drink. Not strongly enough to knock him out completely, and yet mixed so obviously that he’d noticed within half a minute. That’s where the hilt, Bee apparently, came in. Hard to tell at this point what was amateur or on purpose about the whole gambit, but at least he’d gotten a toehold. 

“Bee,” he said slowly, with great satisfaction. “And the bartender. Those glasses did nothing for your bone structure, sweetling.”

The light, sweet voice said, “ _Godsfuckingdamnit_.”

###### 

Jaime almost wished he’d said nothing, as he couldn’t get anything more from the women before they finally arrived at their destination. Bee pulled him along again, though he gave her some resistance as he tried to maintain a more leisurely pace. 

He pretended to look her up and down, despite the damned bag, because he could distinctly feel they were shoulder to shoulder. “You are a great beast of a woman, aren’t you, Bee? Are you as tall as I am? Taller? I think I would have to stretch a bit if we had an actual fair match. Bit in bad taste, isn’t it, knocking a man over when he’s already in his cups. Well, cup. Did think it was a bit soon for the room to start spinning. Your friend may need to consider divvying up her concoctions, it was a dead giveaway, otherwise we wouldn’t have had our merry little chase down the alley.”

She only answered by shoving him into a chair and pulling his bound wrists behind him to attach to some other cabled device. Firmly. Jaime answered by giving his fingers a wiggle hello. 

And finally, finally, they removed the damn bag. 

“You’re not Bee,” Jaime said as he squinted at the bright lights that held a shadowed outline in front of him. A man this time, and certainly not one who met the impressive heights of his favored abductor of the evening. He blinked and squeezed his eyes, trying to get a better look as the man became clearer, his dark beard almost overgrown, but curled hair tied back in a tidy knot. His solemn eyes looked over Jaime’s shoulder and then gave a curt nod. Heavy steps walked away before Jaime could look over his shoulder. 

“Mr. Lannister, thank you for accepting our invitation. I am Jon Snow,” the man said with a polite sort of tone. 

“Now I’m not sure I quite like the kind of parties to which you’re inviting me, Mr. Jon Snow, I only got to have a single drink,” Jaime replied sardonically. “And Jon Snow? Is it really? Thought they’d finally let those bastard names die out.”

“It serves the purpose here,” Snow said as he pulled over a chair from behind him so they were on an even level; behind _him_ stood a large array of computers, cases and assorted screens. Jaime leaned over as much as he could to take a good look and then give an impressed frown. Amateurs didn’t have that kind of tech, he would know. 

Jon Snow followed his line of sight and then called Jaime’s attention back by saying, “Cersei Lannister.”

Jaime pursed his lips and then clicked his tongue. “I”m familiar with the name. I believe we shared a womb at some point. We’ve quite gone our separate ways since then, you know, with all the senseless blood spilling and terrorizing innocents of it all. Not to my taste.”

“Your sister is a dangerous woman.”

“Yes, I just said. Are you paying attention?”

Jon Snow smiled quietly. “Forgive us, but we are marveling at our luck to have access to someone who was once so high ranking in the Lannister organization. It’s difficult to believe that a person who had such a close relationship to one of the greatest criminal masterminds of the age chose out to reach out to us. You must understand we are prepared for any trap you attempt to perpetrate.” 

“I’ll admit, I suspected we may play a little cloak and dagger in order to meet up, but this was not something I could have prepared for,” Jaime uncomfortably shrugged his shoulders, “I left a message a bare twenty minutes before I got to that bar, I didn’t even think I’d hear back for days, you can’t expect I’d planned for much more than a glass of arbor gold before I made my way home.”

“If we could be prepared, so could you,” Snow replied as he pulled out a phone, Jaime’s phone he realized, and separated the pieces of it. And then he dangled a small disk from between his fingers. “Sorry for the long ride, we really aren’t that far from where we picked you up. Just had to get you clear of these pesky little tracking devices, make sure we couldn’t be followed.”

Jaime goggled at the sight. “I’ve had that phone less than a week.”

“Your sister works quickly, as do those who answer to her,” Jon said wryly. 

“Well, I expect one of you to pay the deductible for a replacement. We disinherited Lannisters don’t have as much disposable income as one would think.”

“Yes, we’d heard that, too.” Sweet Voice was back, but looking distinctly different than he had remembered. Tight blonde ponytail gone, instead softly waved brown hair, a more finely shaped nose, but the same little smirk. It was more than familiar now. 

“Bartender!” Jaime gave her a delighted smile and then dropped it. “I want a refund.”

“You never paid,” she said lightly.

“Well, then, don’t even think you’re getting a tip.”

She gave him a sharp smile. “Have you forgotten already? That’s what you’re here for.”

“Em,” Snow said softly. Em clenched her teeth for a moment before pulling up a chair next to Snow and huffed as she sat. “At this moment, we must agree that we are approaching this from a similar mindset. You, Mr. Lannister, expressed concern over your sister’s actions. Em is akin to that.”

“Yes, I believe most Tyrells are.” Jaime enjoyed the fury that came to the girl’s eyes. “Em. M. Mmmm-Margaery. Yes, that’s you there. Been some time, as we mortal enemies hardly get a minute to meet for tea and a chat, but I’d know Olenna’s dear girl anywhere. How is lovely old grandmum?”

“Dead,” Margaery said flatly. “You know, from when your sister killed her.”

That stilled him; an old, overheard conversation fluttered through his memories, pieces falling into place. Jaime sucked a breath through his teeth. “I’d hoped that wasn’t true. Excuse my candor, she was an impressive woman.” 

“So you believe me, do you?” The light sweetness was gone completely, harsh tones instead, unmistakable grief despite her attempt at a hard facade. “I say your sister is a murderer, you say of course. Because that’s the reasonable response.”

Jaime sighed. “I’ve learned that when people say that someone’s blood is on my sweet sister’s hands, they’re more often right than not. It’s hardly surprising, though I wish it weren’t true.”

The glare she gave him might have skinned him from twenty paces. “Then why are you here? Why now? What possible use could we have of you?”

He worked his jaw from side to side, wincing when it pulled at his wound again. He could hardly blame Tyrell for her anger, he’d been angry, too. For a long time. But now he needed to put the anger aside and actually do something, and he couldn’t do that if he was waiting for them to catch up. 

“I’m here because I tried it my way and it didn’t work. I split from my father’s organization years ago, but they still kept drawing me in, no matter how many times I tried to stay out. I tried to help people and they only got hurt. I tried to make a life for myself, a real life, until Cersei managed to fuck that up for me, too. 

“So when my brother offers me this amazing golden ticket, hey, you can call this number when you’re ready, they’ll help, I stupidly thought, hey, it’s Tyrion, cleverest fuck I know, he must know what he’s talking about. But instead all I’m getting is drugged, chased down an alley, and carted around like a ragdoll, all so I can sit before you to hear some cryptic bullshit from someone I barely know who hates me for things _I didn’t do_. Being held here like a criminal waiting for a godsdamn tribunal, not someone who’s trying to fucking help.”

“Don’t even try to pretend that it wasn’t criminal to help your family,” Margaery said, sitting forward, perched on the edge of her chair like a spitting, angry cat. “How many people went missing based on your intel, Lannister? How many criminals got off because you lost the evidence?”

“You think that I wanted that? That I’m proud of it? Proud that the innocent people I tried to secret away ended up in the gutter despite my best efforts? I tried. Again and again, stymied in every attempt to break free and look where it got me, out of a job, out of favor with some fucking scary people I happen to be related to, on my own and desperate enough to reach out to you lot.”

He leaned forward as much as he could. “I _warned_ Olenna, I told her to get out. And by gods, until this evening, I’d allowed myself to hope she had. So it seems if I can’t get out either, maybe I can take some of the bastards with me. But I can’t do that without help.”

Jaime slumped back, shaking his head before sitting up, wiggling his fingers against their constraints and shifting his shoulders again, working his jaw. “Listen, I went looking for you. Tyrion may have given me the number, but I made the call. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be. Seven fucking help me, I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have fucking bothered.”

“You may think it was your idea, but I planted the seed.” The new voice came from the bank of monitors, only a crown of brilliantly red hair available. “Aegon’s Crisps? Been seeing that advert a lot lately, no? How about those pesky spam rookery messages from Angels on High Travel Agency?” 

The rollers of a chair glided along the hardwood floor, and the head of hair came around the nearest monitor, revealing a pretty young thing with an arch expression, her voice going slightly soft and stilted as if coming through a speaker when she added. “We’ll take you places you’ve never been.”

Jaime stared for a long moment before throwing back his head to laugh. Gods, but they had him on that one. He figured he’d almost appreciate it if his wrists weren’t chafing in their restraints. 

“Well then I’m here, you minx,” he drawled, “right into your web as you orchestrated, I suppose. And don’t think I don’t know the Tully look when I see it.”

The redhead only raised an eyebrow at him before disappearing behind the machines again. He knew that eyebrow. Fucking Starks. 

“All right,” Snow said with firm tone. “If we can agree -”

“That Cersei Lannister is evil personified and we’d best to stop any of her dastardly plans before it ends in mass killings, yes, let’s get on with it,” Jaime finished impatiently. “Danger doesn’t sleep, people, and the clock won’t stop ticking so that we can finish this damn dick measuring contest.”

 _Fuck this_ , Jaime thought bitterly, he didn’t know why he bothered if they expected him to work with a group that was only a step above, in his opinion, base amateurs. He’d give Tyrion the ass kicking of the century for this if he didn’t love his brother so damned much. Taking the last step of a complicated sequence, Jaime twisted his right arm, expecting the age old _ka-thunk_ that came when his prosthesis came loose, so he could break away from this godsforsaken chair, maybe bash it against the ground to cobble up a weapon, fight his way out of the building and make his merry way home. He’d buy a whole damn bottle of arbor gold to soothe himself. And some Mereenese for dinner. 

Yup, that _ka-thunk_ any… second… now…

Margaery looked way too satisfied with herself. Jon Snow shook his head in disappointment. 

“What did you do?” Jaime asked lowly. It was only now that he became conscious of the new, unyielding stiffness of his fingers on his right hand, their refusal to obey the signals he was attempting to command. The simmering anger in his belly started to wrestle with panic. 

“That’d be me!” The girl behind the monitors lifted her hand in a distinctly mocking way and gave him a wave. “Fascinating contraption you got here, very impressive, but all I have to do is this.” _click_ “And this.” _click_ “And that handy little device of yours doesn’t get any of those subtle shrugging, jaw working signals you sent its way.”

“Give. Me. Back. My. HAND,” Jaime roared. 

“Sure.”

Jaime jumped at the sound of Bee’s voice right next to his ear, eyes wide at her now silent approach and the way her hand deftly undid the cables that had been stubbornly keeping him in place. She walked past him as he brought his hands forward, rubbing at his right wrist and testing the articulation of his prosthetic. He vaguely noted how they responded to his commands now, his brief panic receding as he was unable to help but stare at a rather spectacular ass as it casually strolled away from him. 

_Legs_. He got more an impression of a word flitting through his mind than any particular conscious thought. 

“You must understand we are prepared for any trap you attempt to perpetrate,” Snow repeated solemnly. 

“What’s that?” Jaime asked when he dragged his attention back to Snow. 

“R’hllor help me,” the other man muttered.

“We won’t do it again and we have no intention of taking it from you,” Bee said, crossing her arms and leaning a hip against the table where the Tully-probably-a-Stark girl sat, long legs on display and Jaime purposefully looked straight at her oddly structured face. “We needed to let you know that we know you can do it. And now you know we can neutralize it.”

“Yes, but did you know that I know that you’re all a pain in my ass?”

Bee rolled her eyes.

“Little Tully-Stark, thanks for nothing,” Jaime called out, satisfied when the girl’s head shot up in response. 

“That was fucking fast,” the girl murmured irritably.

“I’d like to go for the hat trick, but I have to admit, that face you're wearing, Bee, is really throwing me off,” Jaime said as he stood and approached the people before him. Snow and Margaery remained sitting, but he knew when someone was in ready position to respond and respond quickly at that. Bee was all coiled tension and power in a slanted pose; he would truly like to explore that further if he ever got the chance. 

Spreading out his hands to ease the tension in the room before pointing at Snow, Jaime asked, “Do I get an extra point for guessing that this one is a Targaryen?”

Snow frowned up at him. 

“I’d know Rhaegar’s son anywhere, Jon, no hard feelings,” Jaime finished with an unamused smile. “He was a friend, of sorts, before the end. Glad you’re here and not there.”

“There?” Jon asked uncertainly. 

“That fight we need to ready for? Together? It’s between my murderous sister and your duplicitous aunt, Dany.” He was disappointed to see the shock come to Jon’s eyes at hearing this. “Oh, so I do know something you don’t. Thought all you Targaryens were together on the side of good, did you?”

Jon’s face went mulish and calculating for several seconds before he sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Shit.”

“Truer words.” He started to take a step closer to Bee, respectfully stopping when she pulled a firearm from her side holster that made a Beretta M9 look like a pea shooter. He watched, enthralled, as she checked the top chamber, gracefully slid out the magazine, studied it before reloading and then returned it to the holster. 

A real smile graced his face for the first time that night as Jaime snapped the middle finger and thumb on his right hand, making the taser, a gift Tyrion had put in especially, dance across his fingertips. 

Bee answered by pulling a _goddamn sword_ from a reinforced sleeve on the opposite thigh, and really, what else could Jaime be expected to do but sincerely hope no one could see how much he liked _that_.

“Oh, I really hope I do get to know you better,” Jaime said assuredly. “Maybe you’ll even the drop the mask for me, though I’m caring less and less about that, Bee.”

That, it seemed, was finally what knocked her off balance. Bee gave unnecessarily meticulous attention to putting the sword back in the sleeve on an impressively sculpted leg before looking back at him with carefully blank eyes. 

“Brienne,” Jon corrected him.

Jaime averted his gaze to Jon and then back, warmly repeating, “Brienne.”

Brienne turned her now accusing stare to the other man, but Jon was uncowed. “That’s enough, from all of us. I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve all gotten enough time to get the measure of each other. And now we need to figure out how to work together.” 

“Nice of you to catch up, Jon,” Jaime replied brightly. 

Jon made a face at him. Very Targaryen. 

“So let me get this right,” Jaime stuck his hands in his pockets and did a slow turn, taking in the room, though there was hardly much to see aside the computers and the entrance they had come in. “The all powerful secret agency known as Aegon’s Angels, this can’t be your base, your whole outfit must work on a much grander scale than this. We’re just in a stopgap so Tully-Stark - “

“Sansa,” she snapped at him.

“Sansa. Thank you. So Sansa could show me her neat little tricks and leave me indubitably impressed and chastised. And so you could see how much I know and how much you know that I know,” he gave Brienne a self-satisfied little smile with that, one that grew more sincere when she scowled back. “As for Margaery, she definitely wanted me to make the connection, otherwise she wouldn’t have come face first in all her Tyrell beauty. She could have just as easily borrowed one of Brienne’s very impressive disguises. You wanted to see how I responded. Did I exceed expectations?”

Margaery sneered. “You assume I had any.”

“Indeed.” Jaime made his way back to the chair he’d sat in, reluctantly impressed with the cable contraption that had been holding him in place. All the more impressive had been Brienne’s quick work with it, but that wasn’t a train of thought he could currently pursue. 

Hands gripping the back of the chair, Jaime got down to brass tacks. “We don’t have to remain at an impasse. I know things you don’t and you haven’t exactly been forthright with me, instead playing a game to make me prove my worthiness. That’s done now. There is too much at stake, too many people who will lose their lives if we don’t start working together. Now."

He caught each of their eyes in turn. “From where I stand, I see a team truly untested. Jon here, obviously a legacy placement, managing a team comprised of a wet-behind-the-ears tech whiz, a honey pot filled with poison and the muscle that can only function best when someone doesn’t look too closely.”

All three women glowered at him. 

“And here I am,” Jaime spread out his arms, “a disgraced former detective, Lannister castaway that cannot seem to learn how to quit when he’s ahead. Until this moment, where I’m standing before you, asking for your help. So what do you say, do I pass?”

The group before him traded several significant glances, a nod or two, the shake of a head. Inexperienced as they were, they did appear to be a team. Jaime felt something finally relax within him; perhaps untested didn’t mean incapable, after all.

Jon took a moment longer after all the movement stilled, his focus firmly on Brienne, who turned her gaze back to Jaime and explored his face with those startlingly pretty eyes before looking back at her leader. 

With that, Jon turned to him and said, “Let’s get started.”

**Author's Note:**

> It has been almost ten years since I've last written fanfic. Of course these goobers are what drew me back in.


End file.
